Some people leave footprints on our heart.
Cats leave fur on our sweaters.
Dogs leave drool on our shoes.
Families will crap on our doorstep.
So when life gives you crap, garden it and make roses.
Saturday, March 05, 2011
A Stylist's work is never done
Now this is what I like. Lovely lace, colour will go with the shoes, pink diamond will shine and the whole outfit can be upsized from this stick insect to bloggerbums. Forget the flowing white silk River , this is it, the one.
Fabulous ensemble, where would we wear thee? ... a society wedding, ... dinner at a 5-star restaurant, ... to receive an award from government or royalty, ... umm ... umm ... look dahling, the opportunities to amortise the cost-per-wear factor are just not there, and that girl could tidy her hair, eat something, and stop snorting coke.
I got a book at Laverton market on Saturday called The Complete Book Of The Cat. I'm sending it to one of you ladies but I don't know how I'll get it to you because it's rather heavy. On Sunday I went to Geelong with His Majesty who wanted a look at a clifftop house belonging to an old girllfriend's family. The father, long deceased now, was a top exec at Ford and drove a Ferrari, the mother may still be alive but we don't know. Well whatever, it's funny to think that His Majesty at that stage of his life had three girlfriends going at once, but this one, Maryanne P, still fascinates him because she was "a good girl", didn't drink smoke or eat magic mushrooms. She didn't root as well, which is a bore to some blokes, but others see it different. Anyway here's the point, we got there and off he goes up this long driveway, a driveway he hasn't walked up in thirty years, and he's going to knock on the door and ask for Maryanne P, who's probably married now with grandkids and hasn't lived there for years. Of course I shouldn't have let him do it, but I was in some sort of coma, like I was dreaming it all. I even got out of the car for a moment to watch him go boldly up the driveway of this huge double-storied house. Then I got back in, like it was nothing to do with me, well at least I'd had the sense to park next door. But soon he was back, hopping in himself. "Get going," he said, "I think they're gonna ring the police." Well darlings, schizophrenics often get beaten up, arrested and so on, for giving no consequence to the passing of time. Maybe it's an advantage.
Miss O'Dyne, a fabulous enemble for meeting fabulous blogmates at the Windsor for Sunday afternoon tea. That's with tea, we wouldn't want to be seen boozed up in outfits like this. I am talking about us 'Ladies' not those scruffy bloke bloggers, a certain Lord springs to mind.
Jayne, I can see you in this, we'll just remove the belt so it hangs loose and whack a couple of jewells on your crocs.
River, I was thinking more in the pinky beige range, not too pink or the shoes won't match. I should be able to run up a nice matching trackie suit for Kath Chokett.
Very sensible Robbert to stay in the getaway car, old habits die hard.
Fabulous ensemble, where would we wear thee?
ReplyDelete... a society wedding, ... dinner at a 5-star restaurant, ... to receive an award from government or royalty, ... umm ... umm ...
look dahling, the opportunities to amortise the cost-per-wear factor are just not there, and that girl could tidy her hair, eat something, and stop snorting coke.
ROFLMAO
ReplyDeleteMight do for meeting the prospective in-laws....that's assuming they're up to our standard of slight insanity, of course.
Soft grey...lacy....hmmmm....nods head, very nice.
ReplyDeleteGrey isn't really my colour, though the pink accessories would help.
That cheeky little number would go well in the homosexual mardi bizarre.
ReplyDeleteThey could afford it.
Yes well I've never met a poor homo yet (not that I'm phobic about money but it does have a bad reputation).
-Robert.
I got a book at Laverton market on Saturday called The Complete Book Of The Cat. I'm sending it to one of you ladies but I don't know how I'll get it to you because it's rather heavy. On Sunday I went to Geelong with His Majesty who wanted a look at a clifftop house belonging to an old girllfriend's family. The father, long deceased now, was a top exec at Ford and drove a Ferrari, the mother may still be alive but we don't know. Well whatever, it's funny to think that His Majesty at that stage of his life had three girlfriends going at once, but this one, Maryanne P, still fascinates him because she was "a good girl", didn't drink smoke or eat magic mushrooms. She didn't root as well, which is a bore to some blokes, but others see it different. Anyway here's the point, we got there and off he goes up this long driveway, a driveway he hasn't walked up in thirty years, and he's going to knock on the door and ask for Maryanne P, who's probably married now with grandkids and hasn't lived there for years. Of course I shouldn't have let him do it, but I was in some sort of coma, like I was dreaming it all. I even got out of the car for a moment to watch him go boldly up the driveway of this huge double-storied house. Then I got back in, like it was nothing to do with me, well at least I'd had the sense to park next door. But soon he was back, hopping in himself. "Get going," he said, "I think they're gonna ring the police."
ReplyDeleteWell darlings, schizophrenics often get beaten up, arrested and so on, for giving no consequence to the passing of time. Maybe it's an advantage.
Miss O'Dyne, a fabulous enemble for meeting fabulous blogmates at the Windsor for Sunday afternoon tea. That's with tea, we wouldn't want to be seen boozed up in outfits like this. I am talking about us 'Ladies' not those scruffy bloke bloggers, a certain Lord springs to mind.
ReplyDeleteJayne, I can see you in this, we'll just remove the belt so it hangs loose and whack a couple of jewells on your crocs.
River, I was thinking more in the pinky beige range, not too pink or the shoes won't match. I should be able to run up a nice matching trackie suit for Kath Chokett.
Very sensible Robbert to stay in the getaway car, old habits die hard.